by Karen Mead
“This is uncomfortable for me. Move,” he said finally, and he guided her body with his hands until she was straddling him. She drew in her breath quickly when he placed his hands on the small of her back, feeling the blood rush to her face. But she wasn’t the only one excited; to her surprise, she could feel through his wrists on her back that his pulse was racing too.
“I have no way of knowing how I would feel about you if you weren’t…what you are. You know that,” he said quietly. Their faces were so close that even a whisper was loud, and for once, he sounded breathless too. “But I’ll tell you what I do know: I know that tonight, I want to keep touching you, and kissing you, and do many other things that I could go to jail for.”
“You won’t,” she said, after a pause. “The age of consent here is 17. I’m legal now.”
He laughed at that, although it was more of a quiet rumble from deep in his throat than a true laugh. Somehow, she felt like she could feel the vibrations of his laugh in her own throat. “Well, thank heaven for small favors. Now, do you want me to stop?” he said, tapping his fingertips on her hips impatiently. More vibrations, this time in lower places, took away her ability to speak for a moment.
No don’t stop, don’t ever stop. Wait, he can’t hear me, I told him not to listen…he’s probably listening anyway, evil lying demon…hey, if you can hear me right now, then kiss me. Touch me in all the places you won’t look at, and kiss me so I don’t have to hear myself think anymore...
He did kiss her then, and they stayed on the couch together for a while.
Chapter Ten
“Ooh, Cupcake Empire!” Miri exclaimed, turning the volume up and throwing the remote back onto Khalil’s messy card table. She pulled the bowl of extra-butter popcorn into her lap and got comfortable.
“Figures you would watch the one food show that even I won’t watch,” said Khalil. He reached over to the bowl of popcorn, but Miri hissed and slapped his hand away.
“You said I could have this popcorn, make more if you want it. And don’t be a TV snob,” she said, chewing on a particularly buttery kernel. “You’re as bad as Sam.”
“Actually Sam’s coming around,” said Khalil, stretching out on the couch next to her. “He admitted to me that he actually watched half an episode of Top Chef the other day before he got bored out of his mind.”
Miri stopped with a handful of popcorn halfway to her mouth. “Sam? No!”
“Yes!” said Khalil, breaking into an enthusiastic yawn. It had been a long shift at The Daily Grind. In general, he liked the fact that the shop was getting more business, because it meant more job security for Dwight. But in practice, the nigh-constant flood of customers got tiring.
He looked at Miri, who was bolting down her popcorn, enraptured by the TV show. It was amazing how fast his feelings had changed towards her. At first, he could only think of her as creepy vampire, something that shouldn’t even exist in the world. But after she’d very nearly given her life (or unlife, whatever) trying to protect Cassie, he couldn’t help but notice how positive she was: funny, fun-loving, and caring.
Also, she was gentle; even when she had just had her head chopped off and needed blood desperately, he could tell that she was holding back the one time she had fed on him. As bad as her own condition had been, she was still concerned about someone else. Once he knew for a fact that vampires could be empathetic and self-sacrificing, his blanket disgust towards their kind seemed increasingly silly.
Which didn’t mean he had to like every vampire, of course. Dmitri? That guy creeped him out. Seriously, forget that guy.
Thinking of the one time Miri had fed on him reminded him of something he kept meaning to ask her about: why she had never tried to do it again, even though they’d been hanging out together for weeks. It wasn’t that he was eager for her to do it really; more that he wanted to make up for his original revulsion towards her by showing that he was okay with it.
Or, maybe he did just want to try being fed on again. It was strangely hot, and maybe he should be okay with the fact that he thought it was hot. After all, he was okay with other people doing whatever turned them on, even if it was dressing up as cats or elephants or what have you, so that same courtesy should extend towards himself, right?
He cleared his throat theatrically. “You should just let me have the popcorn, for you have this delicious feast before you,” he said, gesturing to himself with fluttering fingers.
Miri was still involved in the show and didn’t turn to him. “No thanks, I’m full.”
He scowled. “You’re eating that popcorn like it’s going out of style.”
“I mean, I’m blood-full.” She still wasn’t looking at him.
“Oh really,” he said, turning back towards the TV, suddenly angry without really understanding why.
“If my blood isn’t good enough for you, you could just say so, you know. No need to be a bitch.”
Miri turned to him, wide-eyed. “Jesus Christ Khalil, where did that come from?”
“I don’t know,” he said, but as he talked, he figured out why he was irritated. “It’s just that I kind of figured that dating a vampire meant giving blood, but you never ask. And the first vampire I ever met told me I smelled bad. So I guess I’ve just been wondering if my blood is only good enough for you when you’re dying,” he finished sullenly.
Miri chewed her popcorn thoughtfully. “What did you eat for dinner last night?” she asked suddenly.
“What does that have to do with—um, pizza rolls. Frozen pizza roles.”
“And the night before that?”
“You expect me to remember? I don’t know, probably something else frozen. Maybe a cheesesteak?”
Miri giggled. “There’s your problem right there. You’re full of fillers and preservatives. Vamps, especially older ones, can get really snotty about that. They like the blood to be as free of artificial tastes as possible.” She put a gentle hand on his knee. “The first vamp you met was probably old, and he was just smelling all the High Fructose Corn Syrup in you. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with you.”
“Oh,” said Khalil, feeling sheepish. He had never really thought about it before tonight, but he guessed his feelings had been kind of hurt by the initial vampire brush off. If you had to live in a world with vampires at all, you wanted to believe that your blood was a sweet nectar they held in high esteem; having crappy blood just seemed like a personal failing.
“So…are the preservatives in my blood the reason why you…?”
Miri snorted at that. “No way, I’m not that old. I grew up eating practically the same crap you do. I don’t need my blood to taste like it’s from before the Industrial Revolution.”
Something still wasn’t adding up. “So then why do you never want to feed on me?”
Miri put the bowl of popcorn on the table and nestled into his side. Khalil was surprised that she would voluntarily put down food. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I think it’s better not to. I’ve had bad experiences mixing feeding and relationships,” she said, tracing the line of his collarbone with a pale finger. “Eventually, no matter how careful I am, you’ll start to feel like I’m just using you, and I don’t want you to feel that way. Maybe if we end up staying together for a while, and you still want to, we can try it. But I’m not going to risk making you feel bad just for a feeding here and there.”
Khalil picked her hand up off his chest and kissed it. The TV blared on in the background, completely forgotten. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, babe. I’ve got some bad habits left over from ex-girlfriends who weren’t half as smart as you.”
She began running the fingers of her other hands through his hair, stopping to trace the line of his cheekbone. “I figured. Most girls can’t be as awesome as me.”
“Nope,” he agreed.
“And you thought I was just an evil vampire,” she said, leaning in for a kiss.
“Did I say evil? I meant “wicked-hot,” he said, kissing h
er deeply.
They stayed like that for some time, just holding one another and kissing. Eventually he moved so he was on his back with her on top. It ended up being fortunate that he had chosen that position, because if she was on the bottom, they would have knocked heads when she suddenly jerked up like someone above had pulled a string attached to her spine.
“Sam!” she gasped. Before he knew what had happened, she was off the couch, fumbling to find the stockings and shoes that she’d thrown somewhere in the living room with unnatural speed.
“What? Is there an attack?” said Khalil, sitting up as rapidly as he dared.
“Hmm? Oh no, nothing like that,” she said as she pulled on one lacy black stocking. “It’s Cassie. I think she just gut-punched him.”
He stood up, shocked. “Don’t tell me he’s–!”
“No, no!” she said, waving her hands back and forth. “I meant emotionally. He’s hurting and he needs help, bad. I need to get there.”
As she finished getting her things together, a sinking feeling came over Khalil. “It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? You’re never off the clock.”
“Working for a demon isn’t a 9-to-5. I’ll be back tonight, if I can,” she said, grabbing her purse.
“It’s like you’re choosing him over me,” he said quietly. Why beat around the bush?
Miri sighed and closed her eyes. “Khalil, not now, okay? I don’t have time, I have to go.”
“Sure, go. Be sure to let me know if you’re ever your own person.”
“Khalil!”
“Go!” he bellowed.
He knew she wasn’t scared of him; despite her slim frame, the girl could beat him in arm-wrestling three times over if she wanted to. But that look on her face before she turned on her heel and left, as though frightened that he could be so cruel, was something that would haunt him for a long time after.
Chapter Eleven
On Sunday morning, Miri didn’t go straight to Cassie’s house from Sam’s apartment. Instead, she went home, showered and changed. She had been planning to wear her favorite stockings that day (the ones with the little silk bows), but she just wasn’t feeling very festive. Instead, she opted for frayed black jeans and a slate grey T-shirt. As she took out her copied key to Cassie’s house, she couldn’t help noticing that it felt odd to actually be wearing pants. How did Cassie wear pants all the time? They were just so…constraining.
Once in the house, she immediately began making coffee. Not the black sludge that Annette favored, but the toffee-flavored blend that she knew Cassie preferred. Dimly, she could hear music and electronic bleeping sounds from down the hall; on weekends, the boy woke up before anyone else in the house and played videogames for hours. Sometimes she worried about him overhearing her conversations with Cassie, but she highly doubted he would get up from his games anytime soon.
She paced back and forth in the kitchen while the coffee brewed, with her arms crossed. Aside from that one time Miss Angelfood Cake had cut off her head (it was a long story) she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this angry. Well, she’d been angry for sure while Quentin was tormenting Nyesha, but that was entirely different kind of anger. That was soul-crushingly depressing; now she was just pissed.
When the coffee made the pleasant bubbling sounds indicating that it was done, she poured some into a large mug with a picture of a dolphin on it, adding just a bit of milk. She also picked up a nearby measuring cup and filled it with cold water from the tap. With the coffee mug in one hand and the measuring cup in the other, she walked up the stairs.
Cassie didn’t stir in bed when Miri opened the door with her hip; so much the better. Carefully, she put the steaming coffee mug down on Cassie’s night table. Then, she overturned the full measuring cup over Cassie’s sleeping head.
Cassie shot up in bed with a thoroughly satisfying shriek.
“Miri!” Cassie sputtered once she had gotten her breath back. She shook her wet hair, and water droplets went flying everywhere. “What the hell?”
“I brought you coffee,” said Miri, pointing to the night table.
Cassie looked at Miri with rage-filled eyes, but eventually picked up the coffee and began to drink it. Miri knew the girl wouldn’t just bolt out of the room if there was fresh coffee involved. She was beginning to regret not pouring a cup for herself actually, but she felt better standing over Cassie with her arms crossed. Sipping from her own mug companionably wouldn’t have created the same atmosphere.
“Now that you’re awake, just what did you do to Sam? He’s a mess.”
Cassie slammed her (already half-empty) mug down on her night table. “What I did to HIM?” she said, with all the indignation a 17-year-old could muster, which was a lot. “What did Sam tell you about last night?”
“Not much, since he was pretty much out of his mind by the time I got there. You obviously did something.”
Cassie looked like she would have strangled Miri with the bedsheets, as if that would have done any good. “You’re blaming the victim here!”
Miri rolled her eyes at that. “Did he do anything to you that you didn’t want?”
Cassie’s eyes dropped from Miri’s face. “Well, not really, but….”
Miri sighed. “Look, all I know is that things were going fine, then you suddenly had the mother of all freak outs and bolted. You wouldn’t even let him take you home. You’re going to have to tell me what exactly happened. Otherwise, I won’t know if he’s in the wrong or not.”
It seemed like all the anger had gone out of Cassie. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them, turning her face to the side. “He isn’t human, Miri! I tried, I really tried, but I couldn’t go through with it.”
Miri knelt at Cassie’s bedside. “Tell me what happened. We’re both girls, you don’t need to be embarrassed about anything.”
Cassie swallowed, still not meeting Miri’s eyes. “Well for a while, it wasn’t bad. We were just talking, then we started kissing and stuff. That part was…nice,” she said, her face flushing crimson.
I’ll bet it was, thought Miri. Most men didn’t really get her “Restraint is Sexy” lesson, but Sam wasn’t most men. As clueless as he had been in the beginning, he’d proved a quick study.
“After a while, he picked me up and took me to the bedroom. And that was okay for a while too, we were just holding each other, and you know…stuff. But then—”
At that moment, the door swung open.
“I wanna play Car Fights 3. Do you still have it?”
“Hunter, knock!” Cassie yelled. Miri had to give her credit; she recovered her composure quickly in front of her little brother.
“Are you going to apologize for throwing it at me yesterday?”
Hunter just looked at her with a sullen expression, then looked surprised when he noticed Miri in the room.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Little boys who throw things at their big sister’s faces don’t get to ask questions,” said Miri.
Hunter turned back to Cassie. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? It was stupid.”
Cassie wasn’t mollified. “Are you really sorry? Or are you just saying that so I’ll give you the stupid game back?”
Hunter looked down. “I’m really sorry. Throwing it at you was really babyish. I won’t do it again.”
Cassie sighed. “Okay.” She got up and walked past Miri to open a dresser drawer, pulling out the game case. She walked to the doorway and handed the game to her brother. “You can have it back, but if you ever do that again, I’m taking all the Car Fights games and throwing them in the lake.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” said Hunter, clearly thrilled to be getting his game back. However, he frowned when he took a good look at Cassie. “Why are you all wet?”
At that Cassie closed the door in his face.
“Hey!” he shouted through the door, but then he must have remembered that he had Car Fights 3 in his hand, because they soon heard his footsteps p
ounding down the hall.
“Miri, I can’t talk about this here. Not with Hunter and Mom in the house.”
Miri uncrossed her arms. “Then let’s go somewhere else. But you are not getting out of this.”
Chapter Twelve
The Sunday birdwatchers were some of Dwight’s favorite customers. They were unfailingly cheerful and polite, tended to order simple drinks, and always put their change in the tip jar. More than that, they all seemed to be genuinely nice people, who were happy to spend their retirement appreciating life’s simple pleasures. Just talking to them was like listening to a relaxing nature CD that soothed his nerves.
And when you worked seven days a week most weeks, those nerves could invariably use some soothing.
This Sunday morning was different however, as the birdwatchers were on the warpath. They huddled together as they waited on line to order, speaking in hushed, angry tones.
“They’re taking over the entire preserve. I already wrote a letter to The Audubon Society, and we should all be calling the mayor’s office,” said a woman with short-cropped white hair and binoculars around her neck.
“Can the city government do anything?”
“The city owns the preserve, if they pass some kind of “save the birds” initiative, I’ll bet they can start shooting those bats on sight.”
“Do they have to shoot them? We don’t want to kill the bats, we just want them to go back where they belong….”
“They’re encroaching on the black tern’s habitat, Sophie! The endangered black tern, I shouldn’t have to say.”
“I know that, but bats are an important part of the ecosystem as well.”
“Not THIS ecosystem.”
Dwight exchanged glances with Khalil, who was in his regular post at the espresso bar. They didn’t know exactly what the birdwatchers were talking about, but they thought they had a good idea.
“Wait, so,” Dwight began as he handed a cup of dark roast to Esther, one of the few he knew by name. “A bunch of bats have invaded the nature preserve?”
